


What The Water Gave Me

by Lothiriel84



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Season/Series Finale, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: And all this longingAnd the ships are left to rustThat's what the water gave us
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 16





	What The Water Gave Me

They dine at the Ritz, and it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of – until they’re standing in front of the bookshop, and Aziraphale leans in to plant the softest kiss on his cheek.

“Ngk,” is all he can muster, and the Angel is gone, leaving a tender “Good night, my dear” in his wake. _Uncharted waters_ , the voice at the back of his mind warns him, and it sounds suspiciously like Aziraphale’s, of all people. _Here be dragons._

They’ve reached the edges of the map, and whatever’s waiting beyond the sudden expanse of blank space, he’s not sure he could ever draw a route to get them safely there. He’s reminded of Ulysses setting sail past the Pillars of Hercules and into the unknown, of Icarus reaching towards the sun like a moth to the flame – he’s a demon, hubris practically comes with the job description, and yet, he cannot, not this time. Should the waters close above him and swallow him whole, he’d very much rather do it alone, his pitiful human heart be damned.

Back at his flat, he sits at the bottom of his bathtub for three days – _this is how I was supposed to go, and isn’t that ironic when it feels like I’m drowning all the time?_ Then Aziraphale rings him, and they have a picnic in the park, and it’s all lovely – the sun on the grass, the way the Angel’s eyes glint with barely suppressed glee as he recounts something of little consequence.

 _Smart little cheeks_ , he thinks to himself, as they throw the leftover breadcrumbs for the waterfowl to feast upon – they’re not supposed to feed them bread, but as Aziraphale is convinced it won’t harm them, it doesn’t. Ducks know what’s good for them – they just let water slide off them, like it’s nothing to be concerned about, and get on with their lives.

The next day he drives all the way to Eastbourne, takes a walk along the path that runs on top of the cliffs. He lies among rustling grass and closes his eyes, listens to the sound of waves crashing at the foot of the cliff until he stops wondering what it would be like if he were to jump. By the time he gets back to his car, his designer shoes are almost irreparably ruined, and yet he feels inexplicably lighter – as if some unseen burden has been lifted from his chest, and he can finally breathe, even though he doesn’t need to.

He leaves it another two days, just for the sake of being difficult, then barges into the bookshop unannounced. Aziraphale looks up from where he’s curled on his favourite armchair, cocoa in hand, and serenely puts the book he’d been reading aside.

“ _Come hell or high water_ , that’s what the humans use to say,” he blurts out, and he knows he’s not making sense, not really, but he needs to spit it all out before he loses his nerve, again. “Well, they _have_ , and still, we’ve made it through, somehow – and I shouldn’t be testing my luck, not after everything, but I don’t want to go back to pretending nothing’s changed.”

“My dear.” Aziraphale is standing too close for comfort, the touch of his hand a warm, almost unbearably soft caress against Crowley’s cheek. “We don’t have to keep swimming against the tide, not anymore.”

In a flash of clarity, he realises they’re already there – this is their land beyond the sea, Avalon and Tír na nÓg, all wrapped into one another. They don’t need a map when they can draw the world anew, together.


End file.
